


so it goes

by bisexualbluesargent



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: M/M, post-case 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbluesargent/pseuds/bisexualbluesargent
Summary: “I don’t even know you,” snarled Makoto.Laurent laughed. “It’s more fun that way.”“No,” said Makoto, “it’s not.”
Relationships: Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 39
Kudos: 559





	so it goes

**Author's Note:**

> well. here we are. not to be horny on main but i'm convinced this show was created to make me go insane. this takes place after case 3 because the new episodes won't be out for a while and who knows what will happen! here's to hoping it's... gay
> 
> title is referencing the taylor swift song <3

Makoto used to like crowds. If he had been several years younger, he would have seen the hordes of people in front of him as an advantage: more pockets to pick. A thousand suckers. A thousand extra yen. Easy, easy.

There were sirens wailing somewhere, distant yells and screams, car engines rumbling despite the crowded streets. The night had settled on the buildings in the way that tigers settled on the undergrowth of a jungle. New York was not like the photographs Makoto had seen. He had noticed, over the years, that places had more weight to them in person. It was hard to explain. Laurent had made a passing, airy comment about how art captures a moment in time, something frozen forever; that’s what made it all so beautiful. _We live through masterpieces every day,_ he had said, pushing up his sunglasses and leering at Makoto. _We just don’t care until it’s on paper._ Really fucking cheesy lines, as usual. Makoto had frowned at him.

In between their first class plane ride and the now darkening streets, Makoto had started to get a little uneasy. He tried to avoid alone time with Laurent at all costs for reasons he didn’t care to unpack. Laurent was annoying; this was a simple enough fact. Makoto had decided, long ago, that heavy feelings were best left for when they decided to jump out at him, tidal waves of emotion when shit got real. Otherwise, burying them was perfectly adequate. It was great when he could pull it off.

Laurent gently pushed him by the small of his back to keep him from running into a young couple passing by on the sidewalk. Makoto didn’t shiver or shudder at all, nothing of the sort- he stepped in some trash, rats scampering towards the shadows cast by a nearby brick wall.

“Oh my God,” he hissed, scraping gunk off his shoe. 

Laurent looked on, amused. “Feeling graceful tonight, aren’t we?”

Makoto tried to give him his most scathing glare. “Shut up.” They were under a street light, and Laurent’s face had more angles than usual, more mischievousness in the set of his teeth. His smile was, as always, suggestive of the smug feeling that came with knowing something everyone else didn’t.

“Sure,” said Laurent easily. A car was sliding up against the curb in front of them. “That’s our ride.” 

The city ran merrily alongside the window with them, flashing its signs and its people as they passed shop after shop. It was late. Makoto shifted on his seat warily; Laurent was gazing peacefully out his own window. Makoto pursed his lips.

“Something wrong?” Laurent slowly turned to look his way. His button-up was perfectly tailored, his hands were perfectly trimmed. Makoto didn’t trust anything about him. That was what was wrong.

“You said this was for a job?” Makoto barely lilted the end of the sentence. A question, only sort of.

Laurent smiled at him. “Nervous?”

“You always pull some crazy shit just to mess with me. And I really don’t even know where we’re going.”

Laurent half sighed, half chuckled. “Guess you’ll have to see. Although I know you don’t love surprises.”

“Not yours,” muttered Makoto, crossing his arms. Laurent batted his lashes in his direction. He didn’t want to play these games- it was a Thursday night, but the city was actually full of pedestrians and their car never accelerated to more than twenty kilometers per hour. It was strange; you’d think Fridays would be crazier. Makoto mused that his life was full of Thurdsays- anticipation, anticipation. Waiting for a grand finale. Waiting for when it would finally hit him, what had happened. When it would all click. 

Friday hadn’t happened yet. It all just hurt, over and over again, when he least expected, with no closure, no end, just his life, grabbing the world by the ends of his fingers, so desperate, so tired. 

The streets got more restless but more quiet, somehow. They took a highway out of the main part of the city. Their driver never said anything, which Makoto liked, because he could just sit there and think. He couldn’t see anything inside the car anymore, couldn’t see most of Laurent- not his careful hands, his finely pressed trousers, but he figured it didn’t make a difference, what sides Laurent let Makoto see; it seemed he barely wanted anyone to truly see anything. 

They pulled up to a flickering street light. Laurent tipped their driver, generously, face half turned towards Makoto like he was expecting him to swoon from his acts of kindness. Makoto turned away pointedly.

“You’re an ugly pouter,” said Makoto, scanning the street for clues about what the fuck they were doing. “All right, so-“

“Aw, Edamame,” whined Laurent. “So rude.”

“And rightfully so.” Makoto caught his gaze, held it. “Why’d you bring me here, asshole?”

Laurent grinned at him, pleased- Makoto couldn’t figure out why. “Oh, cheri. Follow me.”

Makoto didn’t like crowds, now. He wanted meadows full of wildflowers, sleepy beaches that capitalism hadn’t reached yet. He wanted untouched forests, quiet cafes in the corners of cities, he wanted a nice person to grow old with and a couple cats to remind him why he wanted it. On his best days, he imagined villas and the Sunday matinee and bike rides on dirt roads, kind people who made small talk and calm, calm air that was sweet, that caressed his shoulders and cheeks, that tucked him into bed at night.

On his worst days, he wanted a million dollars, the nicest cars, a gun. Imagined ruined hotel rooms and winning, winning. Wanted to punch Laurent in the face, he thought, probably, or-

They were in a nightclub. It was packed, the place was huge, loud, too much. It was the sort of place Makoto hadn’t really been to. _Fucking virgin,_ he heard Abby saying from the recesses of his mind, and he rolled his eyes before he could help it.

Laurent was studying him. “Not up to your standards?” He didn’t even wait for a response, just sauntered through to the bar, didn’t even take a seat, just started talking to the bartender in French or something. Makoto didn’t know. He was annoyed.

“We could sit down,” hummed Laurent when Makoto followed him. “I ordered you something.”

Makoto didn’t dignify him with an answer, just raised an eyebrow at two people making out behind him. “Sure, Laurent. Sure.”

Laurent sighed, handing him a glass with something fizzy with that grace that Makoto despised. He took a sip from his own, leading him to a booth near the back.

It was, again, too dark to see most of Laurent. Makoto didn’t like how Laurent sat across from him, eyes hooded, but then, where else was the man supposed to sit? _Next to you, next to you,_ he thought, then wanted to bury his head in his hands. He gulped down some of his drink despite his gut instincts telling him not to accept anything from Laurent, ever. It was Coke.

Laurent threw his head back to laugh at him. Makoto laid his own head on the table. “Fuck you. Just, like, fuck you.”

“I mean, if you’re offering.” Laurent swirled the ice in his glass around.

Makoto eyed him tiredly. “Don’t tell me you flew me all the way to New York City just to take me out on your weird idea of a date.”

Laurent didn’t answer. His smile was faintly there in the low light, eyes reflecting off the strobing lights behind them.

Makoto felt his heart skip a beat as he groaned. “It was a joke. I can’t believe you.” 

“Think whatever you’d like.” Laurent leaned back in his chair. The bass was thumping through Makoto’s thighs. 

“I’m not-“ Makoto gritted his teeth. “We’re not going to-“

“Not going to what,” said Laurent, voice bored.

“There’s really no job,” said Makoto. “No target.”

Laurent tilted his head at him. “And if there isn’t?”

“I don’t even _know_ you,” snarled Makoto, suddenly angry.

Laurent laughed. “It’s more fun that way.”

“No,” said Makoto, “it’s not.”

Laurent considered him for a moment. “Then we can go home, Edamame. I’m sorry. I misunderstood.”

“What was there to misunderstand?” Makoto ran a hand through his hair. “Ugh.”

Laurent didn’t answer this, either. Only looked at him.

Neither of them moved to get up. To leave. The lighting changed, the music got louder. Their part of the room was bathed in a low blue, barely anything to reflect off of Laurent’s jaw, his glass, his lips on that glass. His eyes, darting to meet Makoto’s with a small smile.

Makoto sourly took a sip of his soda. He pretended not to notice Laurent watching every movement. There were people making loud noises in the booth adjacent to them, people grinding and being revealed for milliseconds as the lights hit them. The table was dirty, Makoto could tell. He wondered what this place looked like in the daytime. How much work it took to clean. 

“This isn’t my scene,” said Makoto quietly. 

“No?” Laurent blinked at him. “I suppose I didn’t think it was.”

Makoto huffed. “You think I’m a fucking virgin too, huh.”

“Didn’t say that.” Laurent slid his gaze over to the people dancing, waiting for Makoto to retaliate. He was always waiting for Makoto to do… something. Makoto knew that much.

Makoto hated Laurent’s accent, his way of speaking, his cockiness, his love of playing people, pulling out the worst of them with a drawn out satisfaction. His way of only seeming like the mastermind behind something big at the end of it all. His way of just letting everything fall into place, like he expected it, but then again, Makoto himself always knew it would, too. Trusted him, for some reason. He didn’t know why he had followed Laurent all the way to Los Angeles that first day. He wasn’t the type to act that recklessly. He’d thought, _well, I was on edge. Thought I’d lost everything._ But now- now-

Makoto didn’t like Laurent’s games, but, well, he did, didn’t he? Kept coming back. Liked winning. Makoto really liked winning.

Makoto put his glass down with finality. “If you want me so bad, why don’t you just-“ 

Laurent gave him an unreadable look. Makoto licked his lips, felt so smug when Laurent couldn’t help but watch that, too. 

Makoto crossed his legs underneath the table. This place was so loud, but sitting here with Laurent, it had seemed so quiet until now. Makoto took a deep breath, popping his shoulders. The sounds of the nightclub amplified to hit him in roaring color, all at once. “You’re not going to make a real pass at me, are you? Not until I do.” Laurent blinked at him in surprise. “Instead you’re just going to do,” he waved his hand around, “all this.”

“All this?” Laurent repeated innocently.

“Yes.” Makoto thought about it for a moment. It was past two in the morning and he was aware that when he got tired, he got a little crazy, a little too bold. Made split second decisions. _Okay, okay_ , he thought. _Yeah._ He got up and landed next to Laurent in his seat. “Scoot over, asshole. _”_ His voice had moved into a hiss. Laurent scooted over.

Makoto took a sip of Laurent’s drink. Way too strong. Figures. “Not even going to touch me?” he said, eyeing Laurent’s hands, twitching on the edge of the seat. In the corner of the booth like this, he couldn’t see Laurent’s expression clearly enough. “That’s okay. I can touch myself, _boss.”_

He heard Laurent’s breath hitch, felt a deep-rooted satisfaction. Cupped his cock through his jeans so he could _see_ it. “You want to do this? We’ll fucking do this.”

“Edamura, you don’t-“ Laurent’s voice was so small. Makoto felt it in every part of his body.

“Don’t have to? Please.” Makoto grinned, leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Want to dance instead?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed Laurent by the wrist and pulled him towards the crowd of people moving around like it was high tide.

“Edamura,” Laurent was repeating, _tone almost nervous_ , Makoto thought, letting out a delighted laugh. 

He pulled Laurent over to him by the collar. Strangers were on every side of them. “No more nicknames from you, huh?”

Laurent seemed to be trying to pull himself together. “You actually do love surprises.”

Makoto seethed at him, not sure why he was so on edge, now, but it was nice, to have this much inside him for so long, so he pressed himself against Laurent in earnest. Laurent was hard. Makoto realized this and felt himself go red. His own body was heating up; there were too many people around, there was no room. 

“Oh,” he said, suddenly unsure of what to do. “Laurent.”

“Yes?” Laurent said, looking at his lips, shuddering when Makoto clutched his arm even tighter. 

“I don’t know,” said Makoto, already leaning in. “I don’t know.”

Laurent seemed to come alive when their mouths pressed against each other, letting Makoto bite his lips, shove his tongue in, reciprocating with twice the energy. The usual Laurent was so relaxed, so sure of himself, every mannerism suggesting life was a walk in the park. But this Laurent was panting, pulling Makoto in by the neck. Makoto was overwhelmed.

Makoto pulled back and Laurent immediately made up for the space, running his tongue down Makoto’s neck. “Oh, God,” Makoto found himself saying, shutting his eyes with too much force.

“Mmhm,” said Laurent, sucking on his collarbone. Makoto felt like he should be embarrassed by the amount of potential witnesses, despite the amount of other people being much more lewd on any side of them, and deep down inside, he was: he had never been the type-

Actually, Makoto abruptly thought, he had always been the type, when the time came. 

Makoto ran a hand across the back of Laurent’s pants. Laurent let out a low moan. Makoto stared at him for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “Kiss me again.”

“My pleasure,” said Laurent, breathless, one hand pulling the end of Makoto’s t-shirt, the other moving its way up underneath it, running over his stomach, along his hips, like he was going to go all the way, take everything he could now that Makoto had given him the green light. Makoto hoped he would.

The music purred through Makoto’s bones. He had started to move slowly against Laurent, didn’t even realize he was doing it. Laurent whined - whined! - into his ear, pulled him even closer, sucking on Makoto’s bottom lip. Makoto might’ve been drooling.

“Don’t think I’m just going to,” Makoto sighed happily as Laurent brushed a finger against his nipple, “let you take the lead.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” whispered Laurent, completely wrecked, Makoto thought. He had such pretty eyelashes. Every time the light rushed by them, he noticed again. _Oh, yeah,_ he thought, remembering his earlier comment and grabbing Laurent’s cock through his pants. 

“Fuck,” muttered Laurent, all teeth in Makoto’s mouth. Makoto smiled at him. “Here?”

“Why not?” said Makoto, leering. “You’d like it.”

Laurent groaned. Someone to Makoto’s left looked over, expression amused. Makoto pressed his lips together. “Actually, we’re going to the bathroom.” Laurent didn’t seem to hear him, his eyes glazed over. “Now, _baby._ ” Laurent looked at him, wide-eyed, and Makoto thought it was so, so funny.

Laurent stopped him in front of the marker-covered mirrors of the bathroom. “Edamame,” he started, but Makoto wasn’t going to fucking do this.

Makoto licked his lips. “Call me by my name.”

“Edamura.” Laurent seemed to hesitate. His cheeks were still flushed, a faint crimson pleasantly reaching out from under his collar. “Makoto.”

“Go on.”

Laurent leaned back against the sinks. They were really fucking dirty, but Makoto didn’t say anything. Just watched Laurent’s fingers curl around the edge of the marble. Someone was getting fucked in one of the stalls. Makoto was hoping that they would finish before he had Laurent pressed up against the wall in one of the other ones.

Laurent inhaled, exhaled, looked at him, finally. “You’re the only one who gets me this excited.” Makoto could see the outline of his erection in his pants. 

“Excited? You can say horny.” Makoto smirked at him. He shoved them both into a stall.

Laurent let out a broken laugh. “God.”

Makoto only leaned in for another kiss. He could do that forever, he decided. 

Laurent stopped, though. He still seemed like he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say. The two of them stood on opposite sides of the stall, but Makoto was a long, long fuse, and he was tired of waiting for fire.

Makoto sighed. “Listen, I don’t know your past, or why you have so many layers of masks to pull off. You can tell me when you decide you’re going to stop being so fucking annoying. In the meantime-“ He pushed his jeans down, took his cock out as quickly as he could. “I’m getting off. Bitch.”

“Your improvement with English continues to impress me,” breathed Laurent, eyes not leaving Makoto’s hand and taking a step towards him.

“Shut up,” said Makoto, even as Laurent got on the ground to lick his cock.

“Anything for you,” said Laurent, Cheshire smile somewhere in there, too, as he tongued near his balls.

“ _Oh,_ ” said Makoto, head banging against the concrete wall he was leaning against. Standing wasn’t extremely comfortable, but Laurent was doing _that,_ so.

“Yeah?” Laurent came back up to lick at his nipples. “I love that you’re so loud.” Makoto groaned again, despite himself. Laurent had spit in his hand, taken Makoto in hand.

“Suck my cock again,” said Makoto indignantly, pulling at Laurent’s hair and getting a noise out of him.

“You act so cold to me all the time and then you say things like _that,”_ Laurent said, sulking theatrically but going back down on him anyway.

“Says the guy who walks around our shared hotel rooms naked whenever he can.” Makoto bucked into Laurent’s mouth. Laurent hummed against him, fingers digging into his thighs.

Waves of pleasure hit Makoto, cock throbbing as Laurent’s tongue ran along his slit. Laurent seemed to sense he was close, coming back up to bite his ear. Makoto frowned at him. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Next time,” said Laurent, not even revealing a sliver of disappointment. He was sliding his thumb all along Makoto’s slick cock. “Christ, you’re just so _good_ at everything.”

Makoto felt his knees buckle. “Exaggeration.” But he was putty in Laurent’s hands, flailing his arms around in search for his cock. “Wow, you’re wet.”

Laurent moaned in response. “Wish I could fuck you right now, Makoto. Right here in this-“

“I’d be the one fucking you,” Makoto gritted out, squeezing Laurent’s dick. 

“ _Yeah,”_ murmured Laurent wholeheartedly. “Fuck. You would.”

“Make me cum,” snarled Makoto, pumping Laurent’s cock, hand inside his boxers. “Do it.”

Laurent just leaned farther into him, pressing their cocks together. He was rubbing himself all over Makoto so slowly. Makoto was going to lose it, honestly, using his hand to give them both a handjob at once.

Makoto gasped as Laurent bit his neck. “Oh, God.”

“Please,” Laurent was whining, moving against Makoto with such raw emotion that it took him aback.

“I’ve got you,” said Makoto, moaning, nearly sobbing aloud. “I’ve got you.”

Laurent shot all over Makoto’s cock. Makoto’s blood was rushing everywhere as Laurent kissed him again, as he came all over Laurent’s pulled-down trousers.

They looked at each other, panting. Makoto thought about everything leading up to that moment, felt himself getting embarrassed. He’d gone and complicated everything, hadn’t he? It was so much easier to dance around things and tease them instead of having a full-on conversation. He really didn’t know what he was doing, not at all.

“Mm,” said Laurent, blinking and glancing at his pants. “There are certainly worse stains to have.”

The music from the nightclub sounded like it was underwater in here. “Tell me what you want from me,” said Makoto, suddenly.

Laurent avoided his gaze, but with grace this time, back to his old self. He kissed all of Makoto’s knuckles in succession, Makoto watching somberly. “You should know by now, Edamame, that I’m not going to tell you much of anything.”

Makoto looked at him. “Oh, sure.” He wiped his sticky hand off on Laurent’s stupid, expensive shirt, and laughed.


End file.
